Who among us hasn’t wished to find a treasure—buried or otherwise? The allure of opening up a seaweed-encrusted trunk filled with gold doubloons or having Publishers Clearinghouse knock at your door or hitting the lottery is pretty universal. Yep. We’ve all dreamed about it.

What if I told you that you’ve already won? It all depends on how you define treasure.

Treasure is one of those words that has a thousand fulfillments. Yet looking through a long list of quotations about treasure, you quickly realize that the things we humans treasure are as diverse as we are.

Christopher Columbus treasured gold. Gandhi treasured truth. “God, as truth, has been a treasure beyond price,” he said. Ralph Waldo Emerson would have agreed with Gandhi. “Truth,” he wrote, “is the treasure of all men.”

Many people treasure love in all its myriad forms. Some consider memory their best treasure. Others find it in relationships. Martin Luther’s treasure, next to the Bible, was music. Author George Sand treasured kindness. One man valued witty women. One famous woman valued anonymity. Louisa May Alcott valued friendship, especially a faithful friend.

Some treasures are more mundane. Some treasured pets, BBC programming and food processors. Surprisingly, Walt Disney valued books. “There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate’s loot on Treasure Island,” he said.

Friedrich Nietzsche valued knowledge: “Our treasure lies in the beehive of our knowledge.”Philosopher Roberto Unger suggested we should treasure what we do not yet know: “The scientist should treasure the riddles he can’t solve, not explain them away at the outset.” Another person said that treasure can be found in what we learn from facing our fears.

When I think about JMU’s first-ever Giving Day— which is today, March 15, 2016 — it seems that many of our human heart’s treasures are touched through the experiences we gain during a college education — friendships, knowledge, love, books, truth. In toto it is an experience that empowers, challenges, prepares, teaches, encourages — and changes us.

Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote, “There is great treasure behind our skull.” And that’s the place where a university’s treasure is discovered — in the knowledge and promise that an education provokes. And it is priceless.

Author L. Frank Baum (of Oz fame) said it this way: “No thief, however skillful, can rob one of knowledge, and that is why knowledge is the best and safest treasure to acquire.”

If you graduated from JMU—or any other college or university—you understand that the value of an education wraps within it the means to find so many of the yearnings we desire throughout life: truth, love, memory, music, friendship, books, knowledge, riddles and even fears. To have a transformative Madison Experience touches on all of these treasures — and far more.

Perhaps J.R.R. Tolkien, a man who well knew universities, was describing them when he wrote, “A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.”

So you see, you’ve already won treasures more valuable than even a lottery can provide. Tomorrow on JMU’s first-ever Giving Day, think about those treasures — your personal treasures — and think about how you can give back so that someone else can unlock their own.

History sometimes takes a beating. News outlets report it carelessly. Partisans skew it for their own benefit. Entertainers corrupt it for ratings — or laughs.

While all history is debatable — especially in broad and sweeping tellings — facts are still facts. And ethical historians adhere to facts in the same way ethical medical doctors adhere to good protocols.

One JMU alumnus, Charles Wynes (’52), wanted to correct an important piece of history — one that had been reported as true in textbooks, public discussions and on television, but one that was wrong.

The oft-repeated tale went like this: Dr. Charles Richard Drew, an African-American doctor who was responsible for the discovery of blood plasma died in rural North Carolina from injuries he received in a car accident after he was denied treatment at a white hospital.

Like many stories that rise to the level of myth, there were grains of truth, but the full truth of Dr. Drew’s life and death was in the details.

The real life of Drew

There was indeed a Charles Richard Drew who was born and educated in Washington, D.C. He graduated from Dunbar High School, once a leading institution for blacks that turned out prominent graduates like anatomist W. Montague Cobb, Massachusetts Senator Edward Brooke, and William Hastie, the first African-American appointed to the federal district court.

Drew was born in 1922, the same year the Lincoln Memorial was dedicated. “Negro ticket-holders who attended the ceremonies were required to sit in a roped-off section behind the whites,” Wynes wrote, “even though one of the featured speakers, along with President Warren G. Harding and former President William Howard Taft, was Robert R. Moton, president of the Tuskegee Institute.”

Despite the social climate that might have limited him, Drew excelled. He enrolled at Amherst College where he stood out in athletics and in academics. He attended medical school at McGill University where he further distinguished himself and returned to Washington to join the faculty of Howard University Medical School. Early in his career, he brought together significant research about blood plasma, but he didn’t discover it. He did, however, contribute significantly to the practice of storing and distributing blood plasma, including the innovation of refrigerated mobile blood collecting units, according to Wynes.

“The fact is, Drew did not develop blood plasma in any of its forms,” wrote Dr. Wynes, “nor did he perfect blood transfusion with blood plasma, as is sometimes claimed in newspapers and popular magazines….and even some history books….To say all this, however, in no way detracts from Drew’s actual accomplishments, which well may appear great if allowed to stand in their own light,”*

Drew’s greatest talent—and what he loved most—was teaching medical students. In this respect, it is not hard to imagine that Charles Wynes felt a special kinship with Dr. Drew.

Valuing history

Throughout his life, Charles Wynes valued history, so getting facts right was important to him. In setting out to tell the Drew story, Wynes did thorough research. He dug through the annals of Howard University where Dr. Drew taught medicine. He visited and interviewed Drew’s family and other individuals who knew the truth — including the doctors who treated Charles Drew.–––

According to Mrs. Wynes, who accompanied her husband on the interviews, “They told us just what happened.” Instead of lack of attention, Dr. Drew was quickly admitted to the white hospital where teams of doctors fought valiantly to save his life. His injuries, however, proved insurmountable. Rather than neglect, his colleagues were distraught about losing such an esteemed colleague.

In 1988, the University of Illinois Press published Wynes’s book, Charles Richard Drew: The Man and the Myth. The book is an interesting read and one that not only corrects what Wynes termed “the myth” but also challenges many modern perceptions of 1950s America.

A legacy to follow

Dr. Wynes died in 2014 after a long and distinguished career as professor and assistant dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Georgia. A consummate historian, he cared deeply about how history was rendered. And his work reflects that ethic.

Dr. and Mrs. Charles Wynes

The correct telling of the life Charles Richard Drew is a case in point. Despite the myths that swirled around Drew, he was a remarkable physician and an accomplished scientist. He deserves our admiration.

He also deserves the truth — and Wynes made sure it was told.

Drew’s story — and the mythical wandering it took — is a powerful example of the need for deep, thorough and truthful education. We should not gloss over truths any more than scientists should gloss over statistics or journalists, facts.

Wynes’s book is a study in accurate history. In his exceptional scholarship and dedication, Wynes gave us an outstanding reminder that change sometimes takes the form of setting the record straight. He did that — and it is easy to trust that he spent a lifetime teaching history the same way.

It behooves all of us to follow the example of Dr. Charles Wynes’s careful and conscientious scholarship.

*Charles Richard Drew: The Man and the Myth, by Charles E. Wynes; p. 58. (Dr. Wynes’ book is out of print, but used copies are available on Amazon.)

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When Elizabeth (’58) and Charles Seaver decided to endow a scholarship in her grandfather’s memory, it was to honor a man Elizabeth loved and admired. It was also a way to keep alive the memory of a man whose impact on Madison began on the opening day of classes in 1909 and continues today. Earlier this fall, I sat down with the Seavers to learn more about the man described by many as “the historian of the Shenandoah Valley.”

It’s a beautiful, crisp, blue-sky Sunday morning in September. Campus is quiet and sleepy — just waking after Saturday’s football victory. Elizabeth (’58) and Charles Seaver, guests of President and Mrs. Alger, had watched the game with their granddaughters, Jacqueline Herrick (’17) and Katrina Seaver (’17).

For Elizabeth, visiting with her granddaughters must have felt a bit like déjà vu. While she was a student, studying toward a degree in mathematics, Elizabeth often walked the few blocks off campus to Weaver Avenue to visit with her own grandparents, Dr. and Mrs. John W. Wayland.

Dr. Wayland had been a member of the first faculty of the State Normal and Industrial School for Women at Harrisonburg and a significant player among the intrepid scholars who created the blueprint for what became Elizabeth’s Madison College — and eventually become James Madison University.

Although Dr. Wayland had retired by the time Elizabeth enrolled at Madison College, he was an inspiring and welcoming figure to her.

“I would go visit. Sometimes I’d take a friend,” Elizabeth remembers. “He had a little book of unbound poetry….He would give one to my friends. I’d ask him to autograph it.”

Elizabeth remembers her grandfather as a modest man, who was highly disciplined and dedicated to his work. He was humble and “very down to earth,” she says. “I enjoyed being around him. You’d never have known he had done all that he had done.”

By the time Elizabeth visited him on Weaver Ave., Dr. Wayland was renowned throughout the valley. In fact, he was widely regarded as the historian of the Shenandoah Valley. Today, up and down the valley, his name and the impact of his scholarship are still visible. A highway, an elementary school, a building on JMU’s campus all bear his name.

An accomplished man

Dr. John W. Wayland, circa 1909

Elizabeth’s grandfather — and Katrina and Jacqueline’s great, great grandfather — was born near Mt. Jackson in 1872. He was the son of an accomplished cabinetmaker and a teacher, who educated their youngest son at home until he was 8 years old. It must have been a rich season of learning. John and his parents embarked on cross-country trip that — before the advent of the automobile — took them a full year. Many years later, as an adult, Dr. Wayland would travel widely throughout Europe.

Once he enrolled in school, John Wayland’s life of scholarship and teaching began. At age 18, he taught in a small log school on the western slope of the Massanutten Mountain, beginning a period of 17 years during which he interspersed teaching with his own education. He earned a bachelor of arts from Bridgewater College, taught at a boys’ school in Charlottesville and Bridgewater College, and he earned a Ph.D. from the University of Virginia, teaching there briefly as well.

As a doctoral student, he embraced life with enthusiasm — the same kind of enthusiasm he later brought to Harrisonburg. He was a charter member of the University of Virginia’s Raven Society, editor of the Raven Book, and a member of Phi Beta Kappa and the Washington Debating Society. It has been said, one biographer wrote, that he received nearly every academic honor given at the university.

In 1909, he joined the faculty of the brand new school in Harrisonburg — a place with unparalleled opportunities to shape the future.

A new school to build

One need only read Dr. Raymond Dingledine’s history of Madison College* to catch a glimpse of the excitement with which the first faculty embraced the mission of building a school from the ground up. Not surprisingly, it was a season of firsts, and John Wayland was right in the mix.

As a member of that first faculty, he was the first history professor, the first secretary of the faculty, the first to offer a prayer at the first assembly, the first to lead hikes up the Massanutten Mountain, father of the first faculty children — and the first faculty member to own an automobile (a Ford touring car). He drove the first editorial staff of the first Breeze to Mt. Jackson to collect the first copies of the first student-run newspaper.

Dr. Wayland was also instrumental in shaping policies and precedents, working closely with President Julian Burruss. The two 30-somethings and a close-knit faculty carefully considered each step they took — always with an eye on the future and the great responsibility their opportunity presented.

According to Dr. Dingledine (who knew Dr. Wayland and sought him out when he wrote his book), he was “a brilliant young historian,” who was also much loved by his students and his colleagues. It was John Wayland who supported students when they asked for some degree of self-governance, a cornerstone of Madison that remains strong today.

Wayland Hall, built in the 1950s and named for Dr. Wayland, underwent a major renovation in 2010. Today Wayland Hall houses a community of students pursuing the arts.

Despite his towering intellect and the gravitas of the first faculty’s task to build the new school, Dr. Wayland was not above being — in the vernacular of the day — a “sport.” He was a ready vocalist, often twanging a tuning fork to grab the correct pitch before singing a lesson. He won a Halloween show one year by singing his own biscuit recipe to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne.” He wrote the first Madison alma mater, “Blue Stone Hill.” He also wrote a song for the Commonwealth that was submitted for the last competition for a state song. And when the whole world celebrated Shakespeare in 1916, Dr. Wayland donned a period costume and joined a parade through the streets of Harrisonburg.

A renaissance man

All this squares with Elizabeth Seaver’s memories of her grandfather. “He didn’t seem interested in materials things,” she says. “His whole life was dedicated to his work, but as intensely as he worked, he always had time for me when I wanted to visit.”

“He was a tall, rawboned man,” remembers Charles, then a Virginia Tech student, who met Dr. Wayland when he began dating Elizabeth. “He impressed me.”

Even when Dr. Wayland retired from teaching in 1939, he continued to study and write.

He was “a renaissance man,” Charles says, marveling at the extent of his knowledge. “…. He was involved in everything — to do that before the age of computers!”

He had two interesting hobbies. He made canes out of wood he collected from historic places, and he collected nicknames. He had a list of thousands.

In a lifetime of work that spanned half of the 20th Century, John Wayland authored 40 books, compiled 21 volumes of personal diaries that he called “every-day books” and helped found the Rockingham Historical Society. He was among those instrumental in founding a memorial at Germanna to honor the first people to settle there during Virginia’s colonial period.

All that — plus inspiring hundreds of students.

To everyone who knew Dr. Wayland, he was a consummate gentleman, a definition he not only lived but wrote. When the Baltimore Sun conducted a contest in 1899 to define a “true gentlemen,” Dr. Wayland’s entry was so strong there was virtually no competition at all. He won. His definition has been published widely and even today, more than a century later, his words still hold sway.

Amazing as his career and impact was, though, to Elizabeth Seaver, Dr. John W. Wayland was a kind grandfather who once gave her a small box of chocolate covered cherries and loaned her a card table that served as her desk for a semester. He also gave his granddaughter a legacy of life and learning and that she now passes on to her own granddaughters.

And through the gift of the Seavers’ generous Wayland Scholarship, Elizabeth’s grandfather’s legacy of scholarship will impact Madison students for generations to come.

During the last Republican presidential debate, candidate Dr. Ben Carson made an interesting observation. Challenged on his proposal for a flat tax, he addressed the contention of some who say that without a tax break philanthropy would dry up. Not true, he said, because people who give will always give because they are generous.

If one believes the definition of philanthropy: “goodwill to fellowmen, especially active effort to promote human welfare,”* then Dr. Carson is right.

People who give do so because it means something. It creates positive change. It makes us all better. And when the good will of philanthropists intersects with the enormous changes that education can wrought, wonderful things happen.

That’s what philanthropists and JMU alumni Joe (’79) and Debbie (’78) Showker believe. For decades, the Showkers have poured their lives into their students, as middle-school and elementary-school teachers. They have also helped myriad departments and organizations throughout James Madison University, affirming their commitment to the change that education brings.

It’s a lesson they learned well from Joe’s father, the late Zane Showker — a man grateful for his own success who believed that he had a moral obligation to make his community a better place. He, like Joe and Debbie after him, did that indeed.

A simple gift of philanthropy can have untold impacts, but one thing is absolutely certain: An investment in education creates an ROI that is priceless.

Let’s cite just two examples: The Challace McMillin Center for Sport Psychology, which the Showkers generously supported, focuses on the psychology of sport and helping athletes maximize their performance both on and off the field. It also provides a laboratory experience for psychology students who are able to work with athletes and coaches. The center promotes success in the classroom and in their chosen arenas of competition — and later in their careers. Extending the reach even further, the center has a huge outreach in the community through local youth and high school sports mentorships.

More recently, for the Alison Parker Memorial, established to honor the young reporter tragically killed earlier this year, the Showkers stepped up with a matching gift to spur others to give to a scholarship fund that will prepare students who will venture into the world with the same integrity, enthusiasm and talent that Alison lived.

Philanthropists like the Showkers — who want to do more than sit back and watch change — actively, regularly and repeatedly invest in the future of their communities, in students, and in worthy programs. They invest in lives with their sustained philanthropy — and those lives can touch the ends of the earth.

In 2011, James Madison University students experienced an earthquake. This fall there was another — of a decidedly different variety. But this time around the seismic impact was even greater when ESPN’s College GameDay was broadcast from the Quad. Marketing and communications intern, Rachel Petty (’17) was there. For today’s blog, she describes how the whole event reflected what it means to be a JMU Duke.

College GameDay Brought JMU Together and Embodied Our Spirit

By Rachel Petty (’17)

Hundreds of signs, purple and gold streamers and spirited students, faculty and alumni fill the quad. Chants of “J-M-U, J-M-U, J-M-U” are heard from all around. ESPN’s College GameDay hosts take the stage, and the crowd erupts.

College GameDay is a day I’ll never forget. The JMU community had the opportunity to show everyone what we’re really all about.

A sea of Dukes, savoring College GameDay

JMU students have such pride and spirit that we were truly able to exhibit on Saturday. Everyone was decked out in purple and gold, holding signs and cheering for our school.

The GameDay atmosphere was truly an embodiment of JMU—thousands of students attended the event, some having camped out all night.

JMU students are the perfect example of “work hard, play hard.” While we take academics seriously, there was no hesitation in putting our all into GameDay and Homecoming.

The excitement didn’t end when the broadcast ended—after tailgating, I stood in the sold-out stadium, surrounded by a sea of purple. It was packed for the football game from start to finish, and I could feel the energy in the air—signs, pom-poms and streamers contributed to the overwhelming support the fans provided for the Dukes.

Even though the game didn’t turn out how we would have liked it to [JMU lost to in-state rival Richmond], we cheered until the end and showed the team that we truly do care.

Rachel Petty (’17) on the right at GameDay

GameDay was the perfect opportunity for JMU to come together. From 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., campus was filled with students, faculty and alumni who love JMU and are proud to be Dukes.

Win or lose, the overwhelming spirit and atmosphere there was on Saturday made it a day that I’ll surely never forget.

against the backdrop of ESPN’s College GameDay broadcasting from campus

during the peak of the Shenandoah Valley’s fall color

with a perfect blue-sky autumn day forecast for Saturday

Yep, sometimes the stars align.

JMU Spirit is sparkling this week, and the excitement on campus is palpable.

Right now the Quad is filled with four tractor trailers that — like transformers — are unfolding to form the set of College GameDay in front of Wilson Hall. JMU’s able Facilities Management team is doing what they do best: getting ready to host big crowds.

Students and alumni are psyched — from coast to coast. One of my colleagues called his grandmother who lives out of state on her birthday. Her first words were, “What’s this I hear about GameDay coming to JMU?”

It’s a big deal because JMU is taking the national stage for something that is overwhelmingly positive. It is a priceless opportunity for JMU to showcase its beautiful campus and remarkable spirit in front of a national TV audience.

Duke Spirit.

Harrisonburg is in on it, too. Today’s Daily News-Record featured a large, pull out tabloid cartoon (suitable for hanging) of the GameDay crew. Cartoonist and JMU alumnus John Rose (‘86) added this ominous warning to University of Richmond fans —

Every Spider Panic Now.

Hotels and restaurants are gearing up for an influx of alumni, fans and friends. Many returning Dukes will be astonished at the variety of interesting downtown shops and restaurants that have sprung up in the ’Burg, including a dizzying array of ethnic cuisines from Cuban to Indian to Irish — Middle Eastern, German, Korean and more. The full list is downright impressive.

If nothing else, this Homecoming showcases JMU’s ability to rally, to get ready, to temporarily set aside the mundane for a day or so to have some fun.

Sometimes change comes in the form of an unexpected opportunity, and what change results from all the hoopla surrounding GameDay is yet to be seen. Aside from ruts in the Quad, an exhausted Facilities Management staff, happy alumni, and —hopefully — a football victory, new memories and new impressions of the university will form this weekend. Millions of people across the country who have never heard of James Madison University will get to know us — on a campus, in a valley, on an October day, in an arena that is hard to beat.

It is a chance for change that few have. JMU and Harrisonburg intend to make the most of this week — when the stars have aligned just for us.

To see much more about GameDay, the excitement on campus, and a lot of fun videos, check out these JMU and Harrisonburg Facebook pages:

Hands down, the best part of my job is meeting interesting people. Such was the case last March when I began exploring the world of autism that swirls through JMU — a story that grew bigger and better with each person I met. Every one led me to another until — a dozen interviews later — I had a picture of an amazing community.

But, first, let me back up… Eight years ago, during the university’s centennial celebration, I met a man I remembered as “Robert.” He was new to the JMU community and handled the plethora of signage for our yearlong celebration. At the time, Robert said he and his family had moved to the Valley, seeking services for two sons who were diagnosed with autism. I’m not sure why his name stuck in my head, but it did. So last spring when the communications team decided to explore autism for an upcoming issue of Madison magazine, I called Robert — not knowing if he would even be willing to talk to me.

Fortunately, he was. In fact, Robert Weese was eager to talk. He and his family had discovered here in the Valley an invaluable network of support. I asked him what he hoped would come from telling his story. His answer was succinct: “Education,” he said. “Education is the key.” People need to be educated, so they understand individuals with autism, their strengths and their challenges.

Several years ago, I glimpsed the impact of education on autism when I interviewed Gay Finlayson. Decades before, she had searched far and wide to understand her daughter. It wasn’t until she brought her to JMU’s Early Childhood Development Center that she learned her daughter had autism. Gay’s story is emblematic: The more people I talked to, the more I realized that when the needs of the autism community join with the abilities and potentialities of higher education everyone benefits.

Garrett, Robert and Laurie Weese

A personal journey

In my mind, Robert Weese and his wife Laurie are heroes, although they would both say their three sons — Nathan, Garrett, and Connor — are the real heroes. Robert has become an advocate for autism — and perhaps most importantly — he’s become a person autism families seek out for direction. Laurie, too, has met the challenge. In addition to doing — as Robert describes —“an ungodly amount of research” to help her own family, she earned a master’s degree in counseling in hopes of helping others as well. Like her husband, Laurie is eager to educate people about autism.

In exploring this story, I met Trevor Stokes, a professor of graduate psychology with a charming Australian accent and a bent for explaining complex issues. He took me down the road that so many autism parents have traveled and explained how his field, Applied Behavioral Analysis, has improved the future for many. He told me about JMU’s innovative Inter-professional Autism Clinic that marries ABA with Occupational Therapy and with Speech and Language Pathology into an innovative and collaborative therapy that benefits children with autism, but also benefits their parents and JMU students as well.

I explored the role that JMU’s College of Education plays. Keri Bethune, coordinator of JMU’s autism certificate program, explained how JMU students learn through interacting with students in local classrooms — and vice versa. Keri, herself, spends countless hours in local schools directing, advising and assisting JMU students and local teachers in becoming more and more adept at what they do.

And then there was Scott Hand, director of pupil personnel services for Rockingham County Public Schools. Scott’s supervisory role not only links local families and schools to state services, but he, personally, took the time 8 years ago to introduce the Weese family to local schools.

Through JMU’s Institute for Health and Human Services — a compassionate giant in the valley —the Weeses and other families also have the opportunity to work with professionals like Liz Richardson, occupational therapist, and Marsha Longerbeam, speech and language pathologist. Not only do they work independently and with IPAC, Liz and Marsha run a summer camp for children with autism. Liz and Marsha, like many JMU faculty, also have professional private practices, increasing the opportunities for local families to find help. Briana Priester’s Studio B for Living LLC is another. She is an instructor in the School of Music and a licensed music therapist who has worked with Garrett Weese, helping his language skills through music.

Families like the Weeses are extraordinary — and also ordinary, as I learned from JMU student Allison Lindsey, who has grown up with two siblings diagnosed with autism. In Allison I found an amazing capacity to see people with autism as valuable individuals and to meet their needs with a remarkable selflessness and compassion. I saw the same kind of caring in senior health sciences major, Carly Delaney, who has worked with Garrett Weese for multiple years as a student volunteer. She adores Garrett and the affection is returned in kind. Carly is one of many students who volunteer with these special children and young adults.

Then there was Debi Kipps-Vaughan, a licensed clinical psychologist and faculty member in graduate psychology. More than a year ago, when Julie Strunk, professor of nursing, approached her with the observation that local autism families needed extra support, Kipps-Vaughan knew exactly what to do. She and Strunk teamed up to form a support group for families with adolescents with autism. Every person I talked to gave me one more strand of a loosely tied and highly adaptable network of services and opportunities.

A few weeks ago, in talking with Robert Weese again, I learned about yet another: an utility locator in the Facilities management named Jack Martin, who runs a baseball league for disabled children.

Two of my favorite interviews were with Micah Hodges and Ted Aronson, JMU seniors who have autism. Their personal stories and the insight I gained into the challenges that older students face were as interesting as they were inspiring. I also met Brett Tjaden, professor of computer science, who volunteers to advise enrolled students like Micah and Ted. I learned more about young adults with autism from Matt Trybus, assistant director of disability services. His understanding of disabilities like autism offers valuable support to students like Micah and Ted. If there is an incubator of caring that pervades the Madison community and spills generously out into the local community, I found it in the autism community. As a writer, it was an amazing journey. There is no doubt that all of these individuals epitomize the very best of what it means to Be the Change.